Meanwhile...
A Coast City prison...
Like all prisoners, even Metahuman prisoners, Hector Hammond was allowed a certain amount of television. That he was a dangerous criminal who required a large amount of drugs pumped into his system to suppress his telepathic and telekinetic abilities was of little consequence.
And one of the broadcasts today was amateur video from Chicago, of several new Metahumans helping to fight a fire and rescue people from the blaze.
No. Not Metas. The green one bore unmistakable signs of channeling the same power as the damned Hal Jordan's ring. Some of the others were less familiar, but Hector Hammond had encountered enough, seen enough of Jordan's memories to recognize the power of the Entities of the Emotional Spectrum when he saw them.
Especially the Orange. Hammond had been the host of Ophidian, once upon a time, even if it was rather briefly. He had never felt more powerful, more mighty.
He had never stopped wanting it again.
His body was weak, but Hammond very carefully steepled his fingers. He looked up and locked eyes with the guard. He spoke a single word. A telepathic command that, even drugged, he'd been able to slowly impose upon the simpletons that surrounded him.
News of his escape would not appear for several days hence.
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